


Swing the Spinning Step

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agender Character, Agender Malia Tate, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Asexual Kira, Brief Alcohol Use, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Other, Polyamory, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5923597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's Malia. But then, there's Scott. And, there's Malia with Scott. Then, there's Kira, looking in on all of it and wanting in a way that she doesn't really understand. Maybe, there's Kira with Malia and Scott. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swing the Spinning Step

**Author's Note:**

> For Kiki, [pansexualpoedamneron](http://www.pansexualpoedamneron.tumblr.com)! I really hope you like this. I really loved every possibility that came to mind so I ran with it. I ran a mile, but the more rarepair the better, right?
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> Title from Sixpence None The Richer's [Kiss Me](https://youtu.be/8N-qO3sPMjc), which makes me think of Kira every time.

The coffee shop is Kira’s favorite place to be. Normal people probably don’t like hanging out at their work more than anywhere else, but the atmosphere is like a pulse, breathing and beating in time with the ebb and flow of people. She likes to watch them move through the space. Observation is easier when she’s not working.

There’s a corner that she likes, tucked next to the serving counter, conveniently placed by a wall outlet. She hooks up her computer and connects to the employee wifi, getting refill after refill of discounted coffee in the shop’s painted mugs. It’s the perfect writing environment. Enough white noise to stimulate her brain, romantic enough to put her in the mood to write.

The people who walk through the door are stories all their own. There are the devotees who come in every day at the same time, order their coffees quickly, only smiling when they take the first sip, whisking out the door. The people who come in on a regular and semi-regular basis; people there for the first time, staring too long at the menu, asking for coffee in Starbucks sizes.

(Allison doesn’t tolerate that: “Is this Starbucks? It’s not Starbucks, we don’t do grande. It’s a medium.”)

The shop is close to BH University, right next to the cheapest taco place in a five mile radius. A lot of their patrons are tattooed college kids who drop their bags in piles by the chairs, who chain smoke on the patio, who order one coffee and stay for five hours. They laugh and they scream at each other, drifting from table to table when they recognize fellow students.

Kira’s not exempt from that. She works in the coffee shop, so people who come in on a regular basis recognize her. Most will leave her alone out of uniform, but sometimes people drop into the lone chair opposite her and make small talk, offer to buy her coffee even though her mug is full.

Sometimes there are people she shares classes with. They drift over to talk about assignments before joining their friends. She sits and she watches and she types. She hasn’t been in the area long enough to establish a friend group, nothing like some of the people who hang around the coffee shop.

There’s one group of athletes who are in every weekday morning, all ordering the same thing, paying with one card. Somehow, she knows it’s the coach’s card, but she doesn’t know where she learned that; if it was something they mentioned, or a coworker. Sometimes coffee shop knowledge is like that, a collective of information with no creditable source.

It’s like how she knows that the lady with the chihuahua who comes in every Tuesday and Thursday claims the dog is a service animal, but it’s actually her son’s dog that she takes for a walk. Like she knows the very specific order of a man that comes in every Monday morning at 9:45 AM -- small half-caff, soy latte (120 degrees) -- but can’t remember his name for the life of her. Like how she starts to know people’s schedules without realizing it, picks up on information.

It’s how she knows the guy who comes in weekday mornings and weekend evenings is an artist, because he drags his charcoal-stained fingertips all over the counter and has paint splatters on his jeans. He drinks a cold coffee with cream and sugar every single time, never waivers or tries anything new. His name is Scott. It’s also how she knows that he’s romantically involved with a person named ‘Malia’, who uses singular ‘they’ pronouns. She knows the name and the pronouns because he orders for them more often than not, with a ‘that one’s for Malia, they’re coming’. It’s a different drink every time.

They’re her favorites. Not only because they’re both charming, or because Malia might be the second person she’s been sexually attracted to in her entire life, but because they look like they have a _story_. A story that she might be able to write if she observes them for long enough, if she can capture that feeling she gets when she looks at them.

She feels like there’s something written in the tattoos on Malia’s skin, half finished and expansive stretches of ink that play down their arms and up their neck and over their legs. There might be lines of prose in the way Malia’s hair falls over their shoulders, brown streaked with dark pink, wild like their eyes.

There could be something in Scott’s smile, the way his hands reach for Malia unconsciously, keeping them close, but not too close. Maybe if Kira stares for long enough, she’ll see the strings and lines where they’re connected and be able to make them connect in paragraphs. Maybe she’ll be able to articulate the way he looks at Malia like they’re the most intriguing person he’s ever seen. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be that interested in someone, but then, maybe she does, with the way that her heart leaps a little when she see them. Both - separately and together. It doesn’t really matter.

For now, she’s trying to ignore it. She has things to focus on, like the short story assignments she’s been putting off because she’s pulling doubles covering Mason’s shifts. It’s not his fault he’s sick, better that he’s home and not working -- getting everyone else sick. He’ll probably have to work a lot to make up for it; she might be able to pawn some of her midday shifts off on him.

(Midday because that’s when no one interesting comes in. Especially not Scott or Malia.)

“Are you always here?” Scott asks, sliding into the seat in front of Kira. She blinks at him from around her laptop screen. Apparently, if she thinks about him hard enough, he’ll appear.

“I work here,” she says, in that silly oblivious way she gets when she’s flustered. There’s something about him that makes her blush. It’s not the same as Malia -- Malia induces that stomach-swooping, heat-pooling type of feeling that Kira isn’t used it. Scott’s more of a simmering feeling, a tingling at the back of her neck, the persistent need to grin.

“You’re not working now,” he says, peering around her laptop to look at her. She resists the urge to duck and hide. “You’re not in uniform.”

“I’m writing,” Kira says, tapping her fingers on the keyboard lightly. “I write here.”

“So, you are always here?” he asks, with a smile. It makes her chest feel a little funny when he smiles at her in that easy way, carefree and indulgent.

“You’re always here,” she says. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Every week.

“Touche,” he says, shuffling his hands on the table. He walks his fingers up to her mug and pulls the handle. It’s empty, so she doesn’t care that he’s touching her cup. It gives her the chance to look at his hands, charcoal under his nails, paint streaked over top of them, along his fingers.

Proportionally, they’re small. Sometimes they look too small, but sometimes they look just right. Sturdy, square, with short nails. _Delicate_. Scott has delicate hands.

He hasn’t said anything. Maybe he’s waiting for her to talk, but she doesn’t know what to say. Usually their small talk only takes place between Scott ordering and her delivering his order. There’s never room for conversation then, but now that she’s not behind the counter, the possibilities are nearly endless.

That’s daunting.

“Can I draw you?” Scott asks, out of the blue. Kira startles, lost in trying to find a new topic. The look on his face is this weird blend of cautious and expectant. His eyebrows are very emotive.

“Right now?” she asks, eyes casting around and landing on his bag. It’s a heavy duty brown sling bag, covered in paint, similar to his hands and clothes and sometimes his hair. She’s seen him take moleskines and pencils and other various art supplies out of it before. Sometimes when his friends are hanging out, he sits with his knees propping up a sketchbook and frowns over it for hours while they talk around him.

“I mean, in general?” he says, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “Sometimes I just get this urge? Like the lighting is good or your hair is nice. I’ve - sorry if this is weird but -” he takes a small moleskine out of his jean pocket and slides it towards her, flipping open to a dogeared page. “I mean, I’ve kind of already drawn you.”

It’s her eyes. Half mooned, crinkling at the corners. If the rest of her face was drawn, she would be smiling. It’s all rendered in sketchy pencil, crosshatched and imperfect. It’s the best thing she’s ever seen.

“Malia told me I should ask,” he says, tapping the page. “There’s other stuff in there, like your smile and your hands, but nothing big. I don’t want to be invasive, so I’m asking? Can I draw you?”

Kira’s whole face gets hot. She slides the moleskine closer, eyes flicking towards Scott for permission. There’s still a half smile on his face as he nods. She flips through. It’s all body parts. Nothing obscene. Sketches of ears and feet and stomachs and hands. A study of body parts. Different bodies, people.

“No, yeah, I mean -- yeah. It’s okay, I mean,” she says, trying to talk past the pleased lump in her throat. An excited feeling is tumbling through her, knowing she’s in his book, even if it’s just a piece of her. “That’s fine. If you get inspired, or whatever.”

She doesn’t say that she’s honored, because that seems too formal, a little ridiculous, but she grins at him as she pushes it back across the table.

“Cool! Thanks,” he says, grabbing it and shoving it into his front pocket. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier. I didn’t think about it.”

“It’s okay,” she says, quickly. It doesn’t make her uncomfortable now. Of course, she might feel different if it was a larger picture, a more focused study of her. “I really appreciate you asking. I don’t mind if you keep doing that. Or, whatever.”

“Okay, great,” he says, touching her hand softly. She manages not to outwardly react, but inside, her crush goes from a solid lump of coal to a full diamond with all the pressure her lungs are putting on it. “I should go find Malia, but thanks again.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, letting out the breath she was holding. He doesn’t even look at her funny, just grins again and tilts his head in farewell.

Once he’s a few feet away, she lets out a squeak, thinking about the sketch book and the lead on his fingernails, and writes five thousand words about an artist with a golden smile who lives by the sea.

When she comes up for air, there’s a full mug of coffee at her elbow (she’s been drinking coffee this entire time, she didn’t notice anyone refilling it) and Malia is across from her, curled into the chair, paperback folded in half on their lap. Their hair falls in waves around their face, a floral snapback containing it all. Kira’s pretty sure the hat is Scott’s.

“The Secret Window,” Malia says, tilting the book at Kira in acknowledgement. “I’m trying to decide if I like the movie better.”

“Really?” Kira asks, sounding as offended as she feels. Not that the movie wasn’t good, but the _book_. It’s Stephen King. Malia shrugs at her, staring. Kira fidgets. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“30 or 40 pages,” Malia says, drumming their fingers on the book.

“Where’d Scott go?” Kira asks, face heating up. She can’t believe she didn’t realize Malia was sitting in front of her. She missed the opportunity for conversation. Not that she’s generally great at that, but it would have been nice.

“He left for work? Or class? I dunno,” Malia says. “I usually know, but it was unexpected. I think it was work.”

“Oh, okay,” Kira says, unsure what to say next. Malia returns to their book, and Kira keeps working, eyes jumping up over the screen every so often to see if they’re still there. They’re engrossed in the words, shuffling positions every so often, chair creaking as they move.

Kira doesn’t get anything done, eyes sliding to them too often to be anything but totally obvious.

“You good?” Malia asks, after a half an hour of this. Kira ducks behind her laptop.

“‘M fine,” she mumbles, going hot. She’s an idiot.

“Did you need something?” Malia asks, sounding amused. Totally amused. Kira peeks around the screen. Malia is watching her expectantly.

“No, I was just wondering why you’re here,” Kira says, because she can’t stop herself from saying stupid things. “Not that I mind, I totally don’t. You can sit with me whenever, I just -- I’m shutting up now.”

“I like the quiet company,” Malia says, thankfully not offended. They’re still staring. “I feel like we’re getting to know each other even though we’re not talking.”

Kira swallows, warm all over again.

“Feel free to sit anytime then,” Kira says. Malia smiles at her a little sharp and very pleased. That look probably shouldn’t make Kira want to do absolutely everything in her power to make Malia smile again, but it definitely does.

 

 

 

The shop is always quiet after 11AM. The lull before the lunch rush, people putting in their orders of double shots so that they can survive until they get off work and drive home in rush hour traffic. Kira lives down the street and takes her longboard. Her own job supplies her endless caffeine. She doesn’t really understand the difficulties of such a life.

The people who come in during lunch on a regular basis are usually older, not the college crowd. The lunch influx happens when a majority of classes are in session, unless it’s a Friday. So, it’s a complete surprise when Malia comes through the door, skateboard in hand.

Their hair is wild, their eyes are bright, the sleeves of their cutoff are so deep Kira can see their tattooed ribcage, the very _distinct_ curve of their chest -

Oh god.

Kira squeaks and drops behind the counter, heat pooling in her gut. It’s always a shock when she sees Malia and is reminded that sexual attraction to other people is a _thing_ that happens. It’s not a thing she experiences on a regular basis, so it’s just. Weird.

People are attractive, like Scott. Aesthetically pleasing, inspiring an appreciation, but she rarely experiences anything like _this_ \-- purely visceral, reactionary, tingling desire. She doesn’t know what defines it for her, but she knows that Malia fits that definition incredibly well. Too well, maybe.

Allison frowns down at her, but steps up to the counter. There’s no way Malia doesn’t know she’s back here, but they don’t say anything. They order a ridiculous coffee (medium, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk and chocolate sauce), and wait quietly for Allison to make it.

Kira can hear the tapping of their short nails on the counter, the slide of their skateboard on the linoleum. The employees gave up on attempting to regulate the students’ skateboards and longboards in the shop. They usually end up in a pile by the door or stashed under people’s chairs. It’s a precarious balance of non-rule rule-abiding. If there are no boards in anyone’s way, no one gets yelled at, boards don’t get banned. It’s an unspoken agreement that everyone abides by.

(Kira wonders which board they brought today. They have four or five that they rotate through with Scott, different hand painted designs on every one. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Scott teamed up with someone to release a set of decks with his art on them. She would buy one in a heartbeat, and probably not ride it for fear of messing up the image.)

Malia isn’t sticking around, since they have theirs in hand and didn’t drop it off by the door. They also only ordered one coffee, so they’re probably not meeting up with Scott. Kira wonders if they have a break or ditched class. It’s highly abnormal for them to be in the shop right now.

Allison finishes making the drink, unsubtly kicking at Kira every time she has to dodge Kira’s limbs. It doesn’t matter. Kira is not standing up until she hears Malia leave. She overreacted to sideboob, and now she’s waiting out the embarrassment. It’s better this way.

The cup squeaks as Allison slides it across the counter. The skateboard stops sliding, Malia’s backpack jiggles and rattles.

“Bye Allison,” Malia says, in that devastating, smokey voice of theirs. “Bye Kira.”

“Bye,” Kira squeaks. She didn’t mean to answer, but it’s too late. “Have a good day!”

She doesn’t stand back up until the door settles from being opened and swinging shut, until after she hears the skateboard drop to the sidewalk and hears Malia start to skate away. The look Allison gives her when she pops back up is a mix between pity and amusement.

“I overreacted,” Kira says, before Allison says anything.

“There was sideboob,” Allison says, with a sage nod. “If I had a big ol’ crush on Malia, I would have overreacted too.”

“I don’t have a crush,” Kira denies, but Allison knows. At this point, everyone might know. They’re just not saying anything because they’re all saints. “Okay, it’s not that bad.”

“You only think it’s ‘not that bad’ because you don’t see the color you turn when they’re around.”

“A color?” Kira says, weakly.

“Pinkish, mostly,” Allison says, with a teasing smile. “Rosy. You know, blushy.”

“Obviously?” Kira says, with a weak groan.

“Totally.”

“I’m putting in my resignation,” Kira says, dropping her forehead on the counter. Allison strokes her back soothingly, but it doesn’t do anything to help calm her down. “I’m abandoning my education and moving away.”

“Crushes aren’t that bad,” Allison says, with a gentle pat. “It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute,” Kira grumbles. “They have a Scott. They and Scott are very kissy and lap-sitty and hand-holdy.”

She’s not going to mention that she probably has a crush on Scott too, it’s just a different kind of crush. She doesn’t want to add to the messiness that is already her feelings about the situation.

“‘Hand-holdy’,” Allison echoes, sounding bemused. Kira’s not entirely sure; she can’t see Allison’s face, hers is still on the counter.

“Totally hand-holdy,” and lap-sitty. The lap sitting is probably the worst. Scott and Malia are nearly the same size, maybe an inch of difference. He’s built more solid while they’re all long limbs, and it’s nearly devastating to see that stacked up, his tan skin contrasting their pale skin when he wraps his arm around their waist. It’s very aesthetically pleasing. Like everything about them.

“You know they’re -” Allison cuts off, so Kira pops her head up to frown at her. “Not a traditional couple.”

“I know Malia is nonbinary,” Kira says. She’s not sure which nonbinary identification they are, but it’s pretty obvious. Malia has a few shirts that make gender proclamations: ‘I’m Not A Girl’ on a tie-dye cut off, ‘THEY’ on a pink shirt with scribbles on it. Very obvious.

“No, I mean,” Allison makes a noise in her throat. “They’ve been together like, 5 years, but they date other people. Like, Scott and I dated for a few months.”

“Do they break up a lot?” Kira asks, frowning. They don’t seem like the kind of couple to break up a lot. They seem very solid. Of course, it’s hard to tell what a couple is like behind closed doors. Maybe they fight all the time? Kira still can’t see it.

“No, it happens simultaneously,” Allison says, with a shrug. “It’s like an open relationship or something.”

“Whoa, really?” Kira asks, trying to ignore the way that’s actually making her excited. It’s not because of the possibilities. It’s not. Okay, it might be. A little. “Does that work for them?”

“It seems to.”

“Why did you…?” Kira asks.

“Scott’s not a traditional date,” Allison says, with a laugh that’s more sad than amused. “He’s kinda like. I dunno, there’s a word for it. He likes everyone the same? Or he can’t tell whether or not he’s in love with people. I don’t really know.”

Allison drags her finger on the the counter, scratching at an invisible speck. The conversation is edging into uncomfortable territory, but Kira is too curious to tell Allison she doesn’t have to explain.

“I really fell for him, but feelings are complicated for him, so it didn’t work out.”

“Whoa,” Kira says, trying to make it sound as sympathetic as she can. She doesn’t really understand what Allison is trying to say, but she gets the impression Allison isn’t 100 percent on the whole thing either.

“He’s a good guy though,” Allison says, perking up immediately. “Totally crush-worthy, too. He doesn’t act like a jerk, you know?”

“I guess,” Kira says, thinking about the way Scott smiled at her when he asked to draw her. The way he ducked his head, shyly. He doesn’t seem like he could be a jerk. Allison just watches her in amusement, but doesn’t volunteer to continue, so Kira lets it drop.

The lunch rush comes and goes, but Kira’s mind is a little stuck on the idea of complicated emotions. She plans out a story, told in vignettes, about soulmates who can’t love each other, thinks about the look in Allison’s eyes and doesn’t actually want to write it. Instead, she writes 3 scenes about soulmates who love each other and other people, too.

 

 

 

Malia keeps coming in at weird times. It’s less surprising after they do it a few times, but Kira still feels her heart jump in her throat, feels like gasping gently when she sees them. Talking to Malia is a lot more difficult than talking to Scott. Through no fault of their own. It’s the opposite. Definitely Kira’s fault. Seeing Malia just makes her really nervous. It’s hard to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth in order to make conversation.

This a person she wants to _date_ , but she can’t stop blushing and stuttering.

Luckily, Malia doesn’t seem to care. They’ve taken to sitting across from Kira when she’s writing. Usually Kira looks up from her laptop after being engrossed in a story and there they are. Coincidentally, a fresh cup of coffee is also at her elbow.

The companionable silence is nice. It gives her room to get up the nerve to start talking. She starts slow, asks about the book Malia is reading - a different one every time, like their coffee. She asks about their day or what their plans are or if they’re going to see Scott.

They're sitting together late one afternoon, Kira’s been working on a coming of age story. She hates every word, but she keeps working on it. It feels like a rite of passage in a way; coming of age stories are funny like that.

“How long are you gunna write for? “ Malia asks, head popping into Kira’s periphery.

“Not too much longer,” Kira admits. There's bad writing and then there's whatever _she's_ doing right now. It’s surpassed bad. At this point she’s just writing words and hoping they’ll make sense later. She clicks viciously to exit out of her documents and research tabs. For another day.

“Want to go for a ride?” Malia asks, teeth sinking into their bottom lip in a way that reminds Kira of Scott. ‘A ride’.

“Yeah, definitely,” Kira says, without having to think about it, stomach fluttering excitedly. She definitely wants to go for a ride. Malia gives her a wide, pleased smile, tilting their head at Kira’s things.

“I’ll grab drinks,” they say, leaving Kira to pack up. It doesn’t take long, she just shoves all her stuff into her rucksack haphazardly, palms going a little clammy from anticipation. They’re going for a ride. A ride outside of the coffee shop. They’ll be spending time together outside of the coffee shop.

Oh god.

“Here,” Malia says, handing Kira’s drink over. She doesn’t even care what’s in the cup, but when she sips at it, it’s her usual order. Which seems predictable. She tips her cup in salute at Mason, who grins at her and waves goodbye, shooting her a thumbs up.

“Did you drive?” Malia asks, holding open the door for Kira. She hop-skips over the threshold, breathing deep when the air hits her. It’s a rare warm night, even this early in the year, but the breeze from the ocean is still nipping at her skin.

“No, I walked,” Kira says, flinging her hand in the direction of her apartments. Malia nods and turns, leading her to a small green pick up truck. They shove their key into the lock, wiggling it around for a minute.

“It sticks,” they explain, popping the door open and holding it so Kira can climb in. The seat has a dip in the middle, and Kira just kind of falls in. The upholstery is new, but the dash is sun worn and cracked. There’s a mess of leather, beaded necklaces looped around the rearview mirror. It has that distinctly _truck_ smell that seems to accompany them all. The cup holders have empty water bottles in them.

Malia repeats the key-jiggling to the other door, pulling it open to climb inside. They fit well in the space; they’re definitely a truck type of person. Some indie acoustic music comes over the radio when they turn it on.

It takes a minute for them to get situated, tossing their bag and board over the seat into the small space behind it. They shove the truck into reverse, and then they’re off. For ‘a ride’.

The pick up is a stick shift, something Kira could never manage, but she likes watching the way Malia shifts; holding the gear stick like they’re pitching underhanded to pull, using an open palm to push. It’s more shoving and yanking, as opposed to pushing and pulling, really. Maybe the gearshift sticks.

“It's weird to see you outside the coffee shop,” Malia says, looking over at Kira with a raised eyebrow and small smirk.

“Ditto,” Kira says, making her voice work. Malia is something else with the sunlight shining on them just right, making their eyes light brown, catching in their wild hair. With the pink and the brown and the blonde, they look like a sunset. “So, where are you taking me?”

“Can I tell you that it’s a surprise, and not have you say something that implies I might be a serial killer?” Malia asks. It’s Kira’s turn to raise her eyebrows.

“Do you get that a lot?” she asks, sounding skeptical. Malia looks strong, but not the type of strong that could drag around bodies.

“Occasionally,” Malia says. The grin on their face is wolfish. “I hear that I’m intimidating.”

That makes Kira snort. Malia is blunt and straightforward, but there’s not anything to be _scared of_. She’s pretty sure.

“Oh yeah, totally scary.”

“I’m just nice to you because you’re cute,” Malia says, eyes back on the road. Kira’s grip tightens on her bag, pleased and shy.

“I’m glad you think so,” she says, softly. She can’t just let that comment hang there, unacknowledged.

“Scott does too,” Malia says, giving Kira a significant look before they turn back to the road. They’re driving towards the coast, making their way through the neighborhoods of expensive beach apartments and houses. Kira lets out a quiet, confused squeak.

“Really?” she asks, it sounds like a long exhale. An excited exhale.

“Really,” Malia says. “I think he has a crush on you. If the contents of his sketchbook are anything to go by.”

“He told me about that,” Kira says, fidgeting with her strap. Maybe Malia thinks that she likes Scott, and this is just some kind of interrogation process to see if she’s fit to date him. Not that Kira would _mind_ , but it’s difficult to sit next to Malia and not stare at them or feel butterflies when they’re around. If that were the case, dating Scott might feel disingenuous.

“You’re okay with that?” Malia asks, resting their elbow on the window, driving with one hand. It makes Kira think of road trip movies -- coming of age. She smiles.

“Yeah,” she says, shrugging. “It’s kind of nice. It’s sweet that he thinks I look good enough to draw.”

“That was a subtle put down,” Malia says, with a frown. Kira looks at them, surprised. “You’re gorgeous, of course he would draw you.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“You know he’s not like,” Malia takes their hand off the wheel to wave it around in an ambiguous manner before dropping it again. “Crushes are weird with him.”

Oh.

“Oh, yeah, Allison told me about that,” Kira says, squirming. “I mean, okay, I don’t really get it.”

Malia gives her that smile that looks like they’re silently laughing at her.

“It’s not a big deal,” they say. “It’s just hard for him to tell the difference between platonic and romantic feelings. Almost impossible, really. He does like you, though.”

“Well, how can he tell?” Kira asks, squinting at them. _And why isn’t he having this conversation with me?_

“It’s just a stronger feeling than he’s accustomed to,” Malia says, tapping their fingers on the gearshift. “He keeps joking that you’re his muse.”

That makes Kira choke on her own spit.

“No,” she says, kind of horrified at the insinuation. No amount of good lighting or excellent hair days could possibly make her that inspiring. “I mean, that’s really nice, but --”

“Scott’s an artist, he’s over-dramatic,” they say, grinning at her reaction. “I mean, you’re a writer, you get that a little bit, right?”

Kira thinks about how she’s been the most productive after seeing them or talking about them, and has to nod in agreement. Okay, it’s not that far-fetched, but _muse material_. She’ll suspend disbelief on that one.

They don’t say anything else for a few minutes. Maybe Kira’s comment put them off, but she can’t really think of a conversation starter. Why does Malia feel the need to tell Kira about Scott’s crush? Are they meddling? Kira has no idea. She’s trying not to be anxious, but that’s a very intrinsic part of who she is as a person. She keeps tugging her backpack straps, obsessively searching for a topic they can jump off of.

She doesn’t find any, but it’s not long before they’re turning off a small road, mostly dirt, headed for the sunset. Her thoughts get lost in how beautiful it is. The foliage is thick, but it changes from palms to shrubs the closer they get to the shoreline. They drive parallel to the beach before parking there, at the top of the hill.

It looks down on a small inlet. Fine white sand leads up to the water. The tide is gentle, flowing in and out. The sun is starting to melt in the sky. Soon it will dip down and the sky will be a palette of gorgeous colors. It’s charming, romantic in a way that makes Kira’s chest ache.

“Wanna go for a swim?” Malia asks, eyes on the beach and then back at Kira. They’re looking at Kira with a somewhat guarded expression that Kira can’t quite figure out the meaning of. Instead of mentioning she doesn’t have a suit or a towel, she says:

“It’s cold,” because it is. It’s February and the beach is freezing. That makes Malia grin wickedly.

“Scared?” they ask. Kira blinks.

“What?”

“C’mon, you only live once,” they say, gleam in their eye. Kira shivers involuntarily. It’s not from the cold. “Don’t be a chicken. I have blankets in the back and everything.”

“What about a bathing suit?” Kira asks, because it doesn’t feel like she can back down from this. It’s significant in some way.

“You’re wearing underwear, right?” Malia asks, eyes finally darting away, back to the beach. Kira gets that stomach-punched feeling again, light and dizzy and excited. “Same thing.”

“Same thing,” Kira echoes, then more firm, “fine.”

Malia looks at her so quickly their neck pops, “seriously?” They’re grinning.

“Why would you ask if you thought I was going to say no?” Kira asks, incredulous.

“Wanted to see if you’d go for it.”

“I’m going for it,” Kira says. “We better go, before I do chicken out.”

Malia grins again and shoves their door open, hopping down. They jog over to Kira’s door and yank it. The door pops and Kira tumbles out, trying not to trip as she drops. The bucket seat and the step down is a little weird, even though the truck is small. Malia has their hand on Kira’s elbow, guiding her down.

“Well, let’s swim,” they say. The blood drains out of Kira’s face. It’s really chilly. She might survive, but she’s not entirely sure. The choice is taken out of her hands as Malia starts to strip. First their bottoms and then their top and -- that is a lot of tattoos.

Malia doesn’t have a bra.

Which is perfectly fine, they’re not required to hide their chest. Free the nipple, and all that. Kira feels her toes tingling, and there’s a gentle fizzling in the space below her stomach. Malia is very attractive, and Kira’s face is so hot that it's probably going to melt off.

“You good?” Malia asks. They sound like they’re laughing at Kira again. That makes Kira a little more bold.

“Fine,” she says, a little primly. She tugs off her shirt. The breeze shocks her skin, goosebumps breaking out immediately. This is going to be a terrible idea. Regardless, she toes off her shoes and socks so that she can shove her cut offs down. She’s secretly thankful she’s wearing somewhat matching underwear - a navy blue bra and Wonder Woman panties. The back is cut so half her bottom shows, but there’s not much she can do about that.

Malia’s gaze feels hot, appreciating, when they drag it up Kira’s body. They grin again and stride past Kira to jump up on the wheel and lean into the bed of the truck. The action makes their booty shorts pull tight over their ass and -- Kira might die today. The awkward arousal is actually going to kill her.

Malia pulls blankets out of the bed of the truck, and Kira tears her eyes away just in time, turning.

“I like your panties, by the way,” Malia says, coming up behind her. Kira makes a gurgling sound in her throat, a kind of choke-cough that’s embarrassing, but Malia is already gone, striding down the path towards the beach.

Kira takes it more slowly, trying to gauge how cold the water is going to be. The day was warm for _February_ , but not warm for California. The breeze is unconvincing. It’s going to be so uncomfortable, but Malia is already dropping the blankets and walking towards the water without sparing a backwards glance.

They probably think Kira is going to chicken out.

Kira huffs and groans and then takes off down the beach, running as fast as she can in the shifting sand. She grabs Malia’s hand on the way down, yanking them behind her. Malia shouts, surprised, but lets themself be pulled. Kira knows they just have to do it, they just have to jump in and it will be _fine_. Totally _fine_.

She screams when her feet touch the water, but the momentum from running hasn’t worn off, and she plunges in until she’s wet to the waist. Malia’s noise of distress is way less high pitched, but it’s there. At least Kira isn’t the only one affected.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Kira says. The water is up to her waist and Malia’s thighs, and freezing cold.

“I was going to take my time,” Malia complains. “Warm up to it.”

“The only way to do it is to jump in,” Kira counters, teeth chattering between words. Her skin is so goose pimpled that it _hurts_. Her nipples are impossibly hard. So are Malia’s, but she’s trying not to look.

“Jump in, eh?” Malia asks. Kira doesn’t have time to answer, because Malia just _jumps_ _on her_ , dragging her down by her waist. Kira’s legs come out from under her and they fall into the water with a hard splash. The air escapes her as she goes under, icy water covering her head.

“Oh my god,” Kira says, gasping as she breaks the surface. The ocean floor must have dropped, because there’s nothing there when she tries to stand. She has to tread water. At least it warms her limbs, a tiny bit. Malia’s next to her, smirking.

“Jump in,” they say.

“Touche,” Kira responds. She can’t really complain. Her teeth are chattering. Inexplicably, Malia circles her. “Where are you going?”

“Gotta get the blood flowing,” they say. “Warm up the body.”

“I’ll warm up your body,” Kira mutters, mostly to be contrary. Her mouth snaps shut when she realizes what she said, but it’s too late. Malia’s doing that thing where they stare at her again. “I mean. Yeah.”

She totally would.

“Yeah?” Malia asks, swimming coming closer. Kira can’t look away from their eyes, so intense and full of intent. “Do you think you could keep me warm?”

This is the part that gets to Kira. She knows that Malia is flirting. At least, she _thinks_ Malia is flirting, but Kira’s terrible at that. Flirting and identifying flirting, so she just doesn’t say anything. Malia’s drifting closer.

“Do you _want_ to keep me warm?” Malia asks, stopping in front of Kira, biting their lip. They seem hesitant for the first time all day, waiting for her to answer. Water droplets cling to their eyelashes, hair trailing in the water around them.

“Yeah,” Kira says, breathless. It’s not just from the cold. Malia grins, sharp and pleased.

“Can I kiss you?” they ask.

“ _Here_? I mean, _yeah_ , but -- You want to kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Malia says, nodding slow, coming closer. Kira feels their arm around her waist. The other hand comes up to cup her face, far more tender than Kira would have predicted. They’re looking into Kira’s eyes, making Kira’s heart flutter hard in her chest. Their torso is warm when they line their body up with Kira’s. She would gasp, but Malia is kissing her, thumb pulling Kira’s jaw down to lick into her mouth.

It’s overwhelming, outstanding. It’s making her shake as they tread water, knees knocking from how close they are. Malia tightens their hold and kisses Kira harder, until they're panting into each other’s mouths.

“Holy shit,” Kira says, blinking as they pull away. The smile around Malia’s eyes is soft. The sun is melting down the sky, making everything glow pink. Rosy. Blushy. “I’m guessing Scott isn’t the only one who has a crush on me?”

“Definitely not,” Malia says, leaning in to kiss her again, hand running through her hair.

“Scott’s not the only one I have a crush on either,” Kira admits. Malia makes a thoughtful noise, but doesn’t comment on her admission, just grins in a lazy way and kisses her again. The sun sinks behind the horizon, but Malia keeps kissing her.

 

 

 

The drive-through is boring. Kira kind of hates it. She takes orders and hands things over and that’s it. It’s a far less stimulating environment than working the front counter. There’s no way to people watch at the drive-through. Just one vehicle after another, eyes on the driver, fake cheerfulness. Sometimes real cheerfulness, but definitely a little fake because she’s so bored.

The only good thing is that she has more time to write in her notebook. Usually she can only write at the front when it’s slow and there aren’t many people at the tables. It’s too distracting to attempt to write and pay attention to anyone approaching her to order. In the back, a noise alerts her when she needs to talk. Once she deals with the car, she can just go back to her notebook, focus on what she needs to focus on.

The beach trip with Malia inspired most of Kira’s coming of age story. That probably qualifies as muse material, but that’s not something she’s going to tell Malia yet.

It’s been her go-to daydream over the last couple of days. The way that the sun sunk softly, sweetly, as Malia kissed her over and over, their hands in her hair. When they stumbled out of the water, Malia wrapped them up together, and they huddled, shivering, exchanging kisses.

The familiar sound of skateboard wheels on asphalt reaches her as she jots down some notes. The weather is nice, so she’s half hanging out the window to enjoy the breeze. The setting sun casts everything in golds and reds, very California. Beautiful in that sweet, homey sense.

Two very familiar figures coast around the corner.

“We were waiting at the speaker for ages, dude,” Malia says, sliding to a stop in front of the window. They’re close enough that Kira can see the scatter of freckles over their nose and cheeks, smell the warmth coming off of them from riding around in the sun.

“You don’t weight enough,” Kira says, trying to ignore the way her stomach is happy-heavy. It’s weird. “Like, a car triggers the sensor, but you’re too small. Even with the both of you.”

“Makes sense,” Scott says, giving Kira a wide smile. There’s sweat clinging to his hairline, at the neck of his shirt. If she were him, she would totally have her shirt off. They must have been skating hard.

“What can I get you?” Kira asks, sliding into Barista Kira mode. Technically, she’s not supposed to serve walk-ups, but they’re on wheels, it counts. “Medium iced coffee, cream and sugar, and…”

“You have my order memorized?” Scott asks, beaming. Malia shoots him a fond, amused look.

“Dude, you’re in here like 5 days a week,” they say, nudging their shoulder into his.

“And it’s the same every time,” Kira agrees, punching it in. “Malia’s though, that’s harder. It’s always changing. They’re just not satisfied with any coffee order.”

“‘They’,” Malia whispers at Scott, wrinkling their nose.

“I know your pronouns,” Kira says, blinking quickly. “I mean, right? That’s what Scott uses, I just assumed everyone did --?”

“They don’t,” Malia says, waving their hand like they’re clearing the air. “Scott uses them, most of our friends, but most people assume I’m a girl.”

“I know you’re not,” Kira says, ducking her head, a little embarrassed. She didn’t think it was a big deal, and now she’s flustered again, pleased that she did something right. Malia beams at her, happily.

“Look at that smile,” Scott says, poking at Malia’s cheek.

“Shut up,” Malia says, but they’re still grinning, eyes sparkling a little. They make eye contact with Kira for a few long seconds before jumping away again, back to Scott.

“So smitten,” Scott says, bumping their shoulders together. Malia’s cheeks might be a little pink, it’s hard to tell. Kira’s whole face is on fire, so she’s probably red, but she’s hoping they’re distracted enough not to notice.

Unlikely, but she can dream.

“What are you guys doing here?” Kira asks, finally thinking to input their coffee orders and send them to the front. They’re both a little more than distracting. “$8.20, by the way. I gave you a weird one Malia.”

Malia makes a happy noise, giving Kira another smile.

“We just came by to see you,” Scott says, dropping his backpack from his shoulders and opening it up.

“We asked inside, they said you were out here,” Malia says, very seriously. Kira grins again, overwhelmed by how light and floaty she feels. They _purposefully_ came around to the window to see her.

“We wanted to ask you a question,” Scott says, pulling something out of his bag that’s very much not a wallet or the money they owe her. Instead it’s a fake rose with feathers for petals. Scott holds it out to her. When it’s closer, she can see that the petals are painted like a galaxy; swirls of purples and blues and yellows, white dots for stars.

“Will you be our Valentine?” Malia asks, hanging over Scott’s shoulder. Kira’s mouth is dry, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“What?” she asks. It comes out more like a squeak.

“Valentine?” Malia asks, frowning. “For Valentine’s Day? The traditional sappy holiday where people do cute romantic things and everything is very pink. Your whole coffee shop is pink because of Valentine’s Day.”

“I think she knows, dude,” Scott says, tipping his head back to knock it against Malia’s. “She’s speechless.”

“Speechless doesn’t get us a yes,” Malia says, but it sounds like they’re laughing at Kira again.

“I just - wow. You both?” She’s aware that she’s not speaking in coherent sentences, but it’s been a really long time (like _high school_ , sophomore year, Larisa Vega) since she had a Valentine. Now she’s being asked by _two_ people.

“Yeah, both,” Scott says.

“If you’re not into that, you can pick one,” Malia says, with a shrug. Scott elbows them. They squeak indignantly. “You’re just worried she’ll pick me.”

Scott sticks his tongue out at them, but doesn’t deny it. Well, they’re not _wrong_ , necessarily.

“It’s not a huge deal,” Scott says, looking back at Kira. “We have this tradition called Drunken Donuts --”

“We get drunk and make donuts!”

“You’re not obligated to come, even if you do want to be our Valentine --”

“But we would like you to come, if that’s cool.”

Scott elbows Malia again, but they turn their twin gazes on Kira. Despite the fact that they’re _supposedly_ not trying to pressure her, the puppy dog eyes currently aimed her way are enough to make her knees buckle.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Kira says, swallowing and taking the rose from Scott. She feels bad that he’s been patiently been holding it out the whole time. She was pretty shocked for a minute there.

They both makes celebratory noises and high five each other. They’re kind of dorks.

“Bring pajamas if you plan on staying,” Scott says.

“Or you can wear mine,” Malia amends. It’s like a tennis match with the two of them, constantly bouncing off each other. “We just won’t let you drive drunk. So, you might as well be comfy.”

“We have a great couch,” Scott adds.

“And a huge bed,” Malia says. Scott elbows them, turning to them with the most unimpressed eyebrows Kira has ever seen on someone. “What! It’s a California King.”

“I’ll be there,” Kira reassures them, unable to keep the grin off her face. They both smile back at her, huge and unrestrained. It takes a minute to remember that they’re actually _there_ for a purpose. “Oh god, your coffee.”

Kira spins. The orders are already waiting on the counter behind her, just sitting there. Mason’s head pops around the corner, then his hands, brandishing a thumbs up on both. She blushes hard and grabs the coffees, handing them to Malia while she takes Scott’s ten dollar bill.

“Keep the change,” he says, grabbing his drink from Malia. They’re both pressed close to the window. They’re honestly lucky no cars have come through the drive-through in the time they’ve been there.

“Thanks,” Kira says, closing the sale. Malia tilts their head in, looking up at the front. There’s no one in their line of sight.

“Can I have a kiss?” Malia asks. Kira makes a pleased noise in her throat, but hesitates. Kissing Malia while Scott isn’t there is one thing, kissing them in front of him is a different thing altogether. She looks at him and he senses her stare, then grins and gives her a little nod.

“Uh, yeah,” Kira says, leaning down. Their lips brush, softly, but Malia licks against the seam of her lips, making it dirty in a way that makes the back of her neck and the bottom of her stomach feel hot. When they pull away, Malia shoots Scott a look.

“Can Scott have a kiss?” they ask, puppy dog eyes coming on again. It’s a facade, Kira knows, they’re just pretending to be innocent.

“If he wants one,” Kira says, lowly, unable to look at him. They’re going to have a discussion about her very ambiguous asexual nature soon, but she really enjoys kisses and Scott looks like he does too.

“Yeah, I do,” Scott says, suddenly very close. Kira lets out a giggle and sticks her face out, waiting. Scott kind of... nuzzles her face, dragging his nose against hers, before pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. His lips are so plush. The kiss is impossibly sweet and tender. When he draws back, the look in his eyes is very warm and private.

The intercom crackles, and an annoyed voice comes over her headphones, “Hello? Is anyone _there_?”

Kira lets out a disgruntled noise, before clicking the appropriate button on her headset and putting on her Barista Kira voice, “Sorry about that! Technical difficulties. What can I get for you today?”

“See you!” Malia practically screams, and they both grin as their boards hit the ground with a clatter and they ride away with their coffees. Kira’s lips are still tingling, from them both.

She has a Valentine. She has _two_ Valentines.

 

 

 

Kira will admit she’s not the most coordinated person. There are a few accidents she’s caused, a few slips. She broke the handle off the espresso machine, knocked over a full stack of mugs and shattered them to pieces. The worst incident is definitely knocking into Scott coming out of the back room and spilling an entire mug of hot coffee all over him, though.

She wasn’t even supposed to be in the back with the mug, but the customer wanted the large to go, then decided he wanted to stay and eat a scone, and they don’t keep the largest mugs up front because they usually just serve mediums in-house, so she had to go back and grab one. Instead of waiting and pouring the hot coffee in the mug up at the front, where there was a safe counter for her to do it on, she just did it in the back and threw the to-go cup away, and when she twirled out of the swinging doors --

She’s ran into Scott. Who she assumes was going to use the bathroom, but ended up covered in scalding hot coffee.

It’s kind of instinct from there; she doesn’t think about it when she grabs him by the shirt and drags him into the back room so she can put the mug down. There’s not much coffee left, because it’s all over Scott. She just keeps stuttering out apologies as she drags the shirt off of Scott. It’s wet and hot and everything smells like coffee and Scott’s just staring at her in this dazed way while she bumbles.

“I am so sorry, oh my god,” she says, throwing his shirt in the sink. “I can grab you another shirt, there are extras. I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t even see you. That coffee is so hot, I’m so sorry.”

She practically runs to the break room to grab two shirts, a medium and a large, and comes back to Scott. He hasn’t moved; it doesn’t look like he’s blinked. She’s stunned him.

“I got you a shirt, but you’re wearing a tank top,” she says. It’s kind of a relief, it means that the coffee had an extra layer before it got to his skin. “Do you want to take it off? Is it wet? Oh, god I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I can’t -” Scott makes a frustrated noise and folds his arms over his chest. His cheeks are pink. “I can’t really take it off. I’ll just take the shirt and get out of here.”

“I don’t -” Kira doesn’t understand. “I can put it in a bag with the other shirt. I just don’t want you to burn your skin. It’s not hot?”

“It’s fine,” Scott says, watching her. She feels really uncomfortable, but she doesn’t know if it’s her or him or what. “It’s not - It’s a compression tank top. I can’t take it off in public.”

“A compression tank top?” she asks, blinking at him. Scott seems frustrated, more frazzled than she’s seen him, shoulders up by his ears. He looks away and then back, frowning.

“My chest,” he says, gesturing. “I’m pre-op. I mean, they’re small, but they’re not invisible, especially if I don’t have a binder. I don’t really go out without at least a sports bra on, you know?”

“I… What?” Kira asks, weakly, brain reeling to try and connect the dots. A bra? What? “Oh my god.”

She heats up in mortification and spins around, feeling a little sick with anxiety, hands tightening on the shirt.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” it’s like, _underwear_. Intimate. She shouldn’t have been staring, she just had no idea. “Oh my god, I’m the worst. I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize that you were -” she swallows, trying not to say something stupid and ignorant. She can do this, she’s not an idiot. Most of the time. “I didn’t realize that you even needed it.”

“It’s okay, hey,” Scott’s finally moved. He touches her elbow so that she turns, hand resting on her arm softly. She blinks at him, eyes firmly fixed to his face. The coffee and then the _tank top_ \- she’s probably still red. “I’m pre-op, it’s not a big deal. It’s a good binder, right?”

“I didn’t _realize_ ,” she says, putting emphasis on the last word. In the time that’s she’s known him, she didn’t even have a thought. Sure he’s a little on the short side, but she’s _tiny_ , she doesn’t really do ‘average height’, he’s still taller than her dad; his hands are - _delicate_ , her mind supplies; now that she’s looking his crooked jaw is a little soft, Adam’s apple not entirely pronounced, but that’s just. Things. That she never noticed. Ever.

“Oh you,” he blinks at her a few times before grinning so wide it hurts to look at. He’s beaming, eyes a little wet, face open and happy. “Really?”

“Really, oh my god,” she says. She still feels like an idiot, but her chest is loosening up because he’s so happy. She doesn’t really understand what she did, but she’ll take it. “I’m so sorry, I spilled coffee on you and then _that_ , that conversation. We should forget this ever happened.”

“I’m never going to forget,” he says, with a snort. His hand is on her elbow, guiding her hand to give up the shirts. She hands them over, eyes on his face. He looks at both the tags and picks one before handing the other back. “The day I found out Barista Kira thought I was a real boy the whole time.”

“You are a real boy,” she says, automatically. He laughs, a bright and beautiful sound that makes her stomach fizzle. “I mean, you are.”

“I am,” he agrees, pulling his shirt over his head. “It’s a total ego boost, though. I’ve only been on T for 6 months. I’m glad you can’t tell.”

The shy look is back, his cheeks are pink.

“I, yeah, not at all.” She wants to hug him. He looks super huggable. She doesn’t even have to ask, he just steps in and grabs her quickly, giving her a tight squeeze.

“Thanks,” he says, still breathlessly happy.

“I ruined your shirt, don’t thank me,” she mutters. He shrugs at her.

“Now I have a coffee shop memento,” he says, plucking at the shirt with a smile. “I’ll keep it for always.”

“Be my guest,” she says, trying not to think about how pleased she is that he wants keep it for himself. “I mean, it’s nothing special, but you can even cut the sleeves off and bleach it if you want to.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to do,” Scott says, grinning at her. “You know me too well.”

“I guess,” Kira says, returning his smile, trying to fight off the blush. She doesn’t feel like she does, but maybe her observation has gotten her somewhere. They’re tentative friends, and -- oh god -- future Valentines. She doesn’t think she should be so nervous, since things are obviously reciprocated in some sense, but she is.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Scott says, edging backwards, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “I probably shouldn’t be back here very long, right?”

“Oh, what? Yeah. I mean, yeah, probably not. You blend in, though, with the shirt.”

“I could pass for one of you,” Scott says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Coffee shop espionage.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kira says. Ridiculous and adorable and charming. She has the urge to give him a kiss on his cheek, but she doesn’t. They might not be at that point yet. That might be too much. At any given moment, Scott is a lot to handle; Scott makes Kira _feel things_ that are a lot to handle.

“Still on for this weekend?” Scott asks, face going open and hopeful. Like she would suddenly change her mind about going out with them in the past two days.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kira says, letting her smile get wider. Scott ducks his head and waves goodbye at her with a quick tilt of his hand. It takes her a minute to come out of the back, still standing there a little awestruck by Scott’s everything.

Then she realizes she still has Scott’s shirt in a bag and rushes out to give it to him. When she hands it to him, he holds her wrist while he takes it and smiles at her, looking straight into her eyes the whole time, like he doesn’t want to take them off of her.

She has to go sit on the floor behind the counter to calm her heart.

 

 

 

The address they gave her isn’t too far from the campus. She has to take the bus and do a transfer, but it’s a short ride. The entire way, she’s so nervous that her palms sweat. Her headphones are securely over her ears, blasting music so she doesn’t have to think about the fact that she has a date with two incredibly awesome people, and she has her pajamas in her bag.

Which means she’s going to stay the night.

It’s nerve wracking. Her nerves are officially wracked.

She’ll be okay. She knows that she will. They’ve been texting the whole week, just little things that they can’t get around to mentioning in the small talk when they order. Neither of them are huge on texting, but it’s not awkward. They even exchanged social media, Facebook and Instagram. Scott’s Instagram is all art and marketing. Scrolling through, it’s very obvious that he’s working on skateboard deck designs; she’s incredibly pleased she called that one. Malia never posts, but she likes everything that Kira does post, even if it’s a picture of her sushi.

Their door is green. Kira stares at it for a minute, shifting her weight. She’s checked the apartment number at least six times, and this is definitely the right one. She has her pajamas, her charger, her toothbrush, and an extra shirt for tomorrow. She bought Scott and Malia those bears with magnetic noses that look like they’re kissing when you stick them together. She wishes they would have let her bring something else, but Malia said they had the alcohol and ingredients and, “just bring your beautiful self, we’ll be set.”

Kira thought about that for the whole day.

**From: Malia [7:45PM]**

**Are you standing outside?**

**From: Malia [7:45PM]**

**I heard someone come up the stairs.**

**From: Malia [7:45PM]**

**you can come in**

The three texts come in at the same time, making Kira startle. That’s embarrassing. Kira sighs and knocks gently. The door swings open instantly, Scott’s smiling face on the other side.

“I was going to wait until you knocked,” he says, making room for her to come in next to him. His cheeks are a little flushed, eyes bright.

“But I’m impatient,” Malia says, in a similar condition. They must have started without her. There’s a line of bottles on the counter, different sizes and shapes and types, along with mixers. She raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t get to comment. Scott takes her bag and presses a kiss to her cheek in greeting.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, low and private. She grins at him, face heating.

“Me too,” she admits. There was more than one time that she got so anxious she wanted to text them that she couldn’t come, but she figured if she swam in her underwear in the Pacific Ocean in _February_ and survived, she could survive this. It’s just a night. With two people she likes a lot. It’ll be fine.

“It’ll be fine!” Malia says, echoing Kira’s thoughts.

“Totally fine,” Scott agrees. “I’m going to put this in the bedroom? Or do you want it in the living room.”

“Bedroom’s fine,” Kira says, ignoring the way Malia is grinning widely. It’s almost impossible to hide her own smile, but she tries. Scott gives her an amused look and disappears down the hall.

“Tonight is going to be great,” Malia says, coming over to pull Kira closer to the kitchen. It’s tiny and cramped, barely enough space for two people to move around, let alone three. “No pressure, okay? To talk or whatever. We just wanted to hang out, maybe cuddle if you’re up for it.”

The expression on their face is so earnest, so sincere. Kira’s pretty sure they’re taking pages from Scott’s book with that look, but she’s not going to argue with it.

“That sounds good,” Kira says, dipping her head in embarrassment. Scott comes out of the hall and scoots past her, hand trailing her waist as he goes. The touch isn’t as much of a surprise as she thinks it should be, but she can still feel herself tense.

“Sorry,” Scott says, automatically retracting his hand. “I’m really touchy. I can restrain myself, if you want me to.”

“No, it’s okay,” Kira says, quickly. “Just unexpected.” She’s not around people who want to touch her and hug her and kiss her on the cheek very much, but she likes it.

“Okay,” Scott says, with a small smile. “Just let me know if I cross any lines.”

“He gets real handsy the more he drinks,” Malia says, whacking Scott’s ass with a spoon. Scott’s eyes go wide when he looks at Kira; she doesn’t want to know what her face is doing.

“Not that I’m going to get handsy with you,” Scott says, glaring at Malia. Malia shrugs, a smirk on her face.

“Yeah, I don’t --” Kira licks her lips, trying to get her throat to work. This is where that ambiguous asexuality comes into play. She’s only told one other person, but now she has two people staring at her curiously. She can do this. “I mean, I do sometimes? But not all the time? Only like, twice in my life, really? It’s really weird.”

“Do what?” Malia asks. Kira realizes belatedly that she failed to mention the _what_. “What’s weird?”

“Sex,” Kira says, with a wince. “I mean, _it’s_ not weird, I’m weird. About sex. I can have sex, I’m not broken -- I’ve come to terms with _that_. I just don’t really have the urge to have sex with other people. Except for that rare occasion where I do. Mostly, I don’t.”

“Are you ace?” Scott asks, very gently. Kira’s aware that she’s very, very anxious right now, but it’s more out of body than a panic attack. She’s standing at the entrance to their kitchen, talking about sexual attraction, and they just want to know more. It’s making her a little floaty and nervous.

“I think more grey ace, than completely ace,” Kira says. “Like I said, I’ve only wanted to have sex with another person like twice. It occurred twice, I mean, with two different people. One was a girl I dated in high school.”

And the other is Malia. She didn’t leave an opening for an abrupt change of topic, so that’s just hanging there, and she knows someone will ask. This is why she doesn’t like talking. She always messes it up somehow.

“Who’s the other?” Scott asks, eyes wide and innocent. Kira’s face is incredibly hot.

“It’s not -- It’s fine,” Kira says. Now it’s obvious. It’s especially obvious when she accidentally looks at Malia and finds Malia staring at her. Their face morphs into a shit-eating grin and Kira groans, looking away.

“Dude, really?” Scott asks, gaze darting between them. “Really, really?”

“I need a drink,” she admits, but she doesn’t miss the way Malia’s gaze goes soft around the edges. She mixes herself raspberry and vodka with sprite, and watches as Scott and Malia deliberately change the subject to argue about whether or not the oil is hot enough.

There’s a bowl of batter next to the pan, already prepared. The oil is popping merrily. It certainly looks hot enough.

“Okay, so it’s not actually donuts,” Malia says, letting Scott have the stove. “It’s funnel cake, kind of. It’s like, supposed to be funnel cake, but it comes out in weird shapes most of the time.”

“It still tastes delicious, though,” Scott says, brandishing the spoon. Malia knocks it out of their face.

“‘Drunken donuts’ is just a better pun than anything you can think of with funnel cake,” Malia says.

“Agreed,” Kira says. She likes puns a lot. Malia grins at her quickly, then goes to hover around Scott while he starts. Kira stays a safe distance back, but watches intently. He scoops the batter with the spoon and drizzles it into the pan.

The oil hisses and spits, making her want to move back even though there’s no way anything would hit her. The batter lands in what Kira suspects is supposed to be the shape of a donut. It’s more abstract than that, but considering Scott is buzzed and it looks like a hard skill to master, she’ll give him a pass.

It doesn’t take long for the bottom to go golden. Scott reaches over and grabs the tongs, flipping the lumpy mass of funnel cake.

“You are very good at this,” Kira says, chugging the rest of her drink. She wants to catch up with them in terms of alcohol-consumption.

“We do this at least once a month,” Malia says, abandoning Scott’s frying to pour themself another drink too, dumping ice into their cup. “Sometimes more if people want to join or we have the time.”

“It seems like fun,” Kira says, watching Scott flip another mess of batter that’s oval shaped. Malia grins at her and drifts back to Scott, slapping him away to make their own. They make little ones, ones in the shape of Mickey Mouse ears, geometric shapes; they try more complex drawings, but they end up with a lumpy mess.

Malia gives up after a few failed attempts at a stick figure and shoves the spoon at Kira, giving her room.

“If I burn your apartment down, it’s your fault,” Kira says, taking the spoon. That too-warm buzzed feeling is settling into her veins, grin going loose. She’s capable of doing things, but she’s really giggly doing them.

“Totally fine,” Malia says, moving Kira in front of the pan. The oil pops at her. Malia’s hands are on her hips, big and warm. It’s times like these that Kira’s reminded that Malia is so much taller than her. They lean against her back and settle their chin on her head.

“I can’t move with you there,” Kira says, sounding petulant. Malia giggles at her and leans around to kiss her cheek before drifting back. Pouring the batter isn’t as hard as Kira thinks it’s going to be, but her attempts at shapes fail.

The first one is barely a circle. The second one is supposed to be mouse ears, but the shape isn’t right. Instead, she makes a heart. At least she can get that right. She even flips it herself.

“Dibs,” Scott says, when she puts it on the plate with the rest of them. He whisks the whole thing into the living room where he’s set up a kind of nest on the couch with blankets and pillows. The coffee table has honey and syrup and powdered sugar and fruit on it, all to eat with the funnel cake.

“No fair!” Malia shouts, skipping out of the kitchen with their drink. “I wanted to eat Kira’s heart.”

That makes Kira snicker as she grabs her drink and brings up the rear.

“You can share it,” Kira says, very firmly. She’ll separate them if she has to. They both stop what they’re doing -- fighting over which side of the couch they’re going to sit on -- and stare at her. She holds her drink closer to her chest, heart humming nervously.

“Really?” Malia asks, still staring. They’re staring very intently. Scott’s face is open, hopeful, smiling.

Oh.

“Oh,” she says, realizing what she said. What she _implied_ to Scott and Malia, who are absolutely ridiculous and finding metaphors in funnel cake. “Yeah, really. I mean. Yeah. If you want to.”

“Fuck yeah,” Malia says. A little loudly. Scott cackles and shoves them onto the couch before skipping up and hugging Kira tightly.

“I know I’m not your Number Two Attracted To person,” he says, eyes bright. “But can I kiss you?”

“I like kissing,” Kira says, biting her lip and ducking her head. Kissing him doesn’t put that spark in her belly or make her want to hump his leg, but he’s a good kisser. It’s always a slow, sweet, sincere kiss, and she really likes that. “I like kissing you.”

“Good,” he says, humming appreciatively in his throat. His hand cups her neck as he presses a kiss to her lips. She deepens the kiss, licking along the seam of his lips. Kissing is so nice. She really likes it.

“God, that’s incredible,” Malia says, loud enough to shock Kira out of the warm daze she was in. They’re half over the arm of the couch, watching.

“Sorry,” Kira says.

“I’m not,” Scott says, grinning at her. He squeezes the back of her neck and then moves to the couch, taking up the other end. Malia pats the middle, and Kira sinks between them.

The funnel cake is crunchy and hot and delicious. She likes it with honey and powdered sugar, and when her hands get messy, Malia does the honors of cleaning her up by sucking them into their mouth. It’s obscene and makes Kira incredibly turned on while Scott laughs at them both.

The more they drink, the closer they drift to each other, leaning heavily against one another. The funnel cake gets abandoned when Malia and Scott decide to make out on top of her while she giggles and takes pictures. At some point, Kira and Scott get into a very winding conversation about modern art that Malia only stops because they pin Kira to the couch and make out with her.

Eventually, they go quiet, tired, half-asleep on the couch until Scott shoves at them both to move. Kira barely manages to pull her tank top out of her bag and change into it, shedding her shirt and bra right there. She’s pretty sure they both stop to watch her, but she doesn’t have proof.

Scott and Malia both strip down to their bottoms, matching black briefs and absolutely no shirts. Kira can’t think of a reason to protest when they pull her down between them and bracket her with their bodies.

She drifts off with her leg slung over Scott’s, with Malia’s hand on her stomach, buzzing happily.

 

 

 

The sun is shining through the sheer curtains of Scott and Malia’s room when Kira wakes up. She’s very warm, under the blanket and little spoon to Malia’s big spoon. Their bare legs are slotted together. Malia’s leg hair is soft against her smooth skin, their hand still around her waist, nose in the back of her neck.

When she opens her eyes, Scott’s facing her, breathing deeply in his sleep. He looks so peaceful. The soft light makes him golden. There are laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, still visible with his face lax. She really likes them.

There’s that low hum of arousal under her skin, the one she gets after sleeping well. Now there’s a solid body pressed against her back, someone she has the urge to touch, and it’s hell on her decision making. It gets worse when Malia moves, their nose drags against the skin of her nape, and Kira tenses, shivers.

“Morning,” Malia whispers, voice rough and sleep-deep. The sound alone makes more heat pool in Kira’s gut. Their hand worms underneath Kira’s pajama top, spreading across her stomach. The points of contact make Kira’s entire body buzz with want. It makes her arch back instinctively, grinding back against Malia’s body.

Malia makes a pleased noise and seals them tighter together, tracing patterns on Kira’s stomach; the slow drag of her fingertips makes Kira’s skin spark. The base of her skull is tingling, her kneecaps and elbows and everything else.

“Can I touch you?” Malia asks, husky in Kira’s ear. Kira bites her lip and looks at Scott. He’s still sleeping, but she thinks if Malia actually touches her, that won’t last long. She’s aching though, wants some release, wants Malia’s hands on her, their mouth. Malia’s mouth that is currently pressing kisses to the back of her neck and over her shoulder, bodies still sealed together.

“I, yeah,” Kira says, letting out a surprised moan with Malia’s fingers dip under the waistband of her panties the slightest bit.

As predicted, Scott’s eyes flutter open. He’s frowns at first, eyes jumping over them, but Kira is biting her lip and Malia’s hips are still nudging forward, making them move together minutely. She can see when he realizes what’s happening, because he smiles in a way that’s _incredibly pleased_.

“Should I go?” he asks, voice quiet. The tension in the room has escalated. Malia doesn’t seem to want to stop stroking over Kira’s stomach and under her panties. It makes Kira want to push forward and push back at the same time. Scott’s staring, heat in his gaze. There’s still a smile on his lips. “Or can I watch?”

That’s a good question.

“You can watch,” Kira decides. This is his person that she's being touched by. Kira feels the noise Malia makes this time, chests rumbling together. It’s like a purr. The sound should be ridiculous, but instead, it just makes her ache more.

“I’m gunna touch you now,” Malia says, teeth scraping Kira’s earlobe, making her shiver. She can feel Scott watching her; it’s almost physical. It’s making her hotter, embarrassed, turned on, interested. He can’t really see anything, considering she’s still covered with the blanket, but the fact that he knows is enough.

“Yeah,” Kira exhales, eyes slipping shut as Malia shifts behind her so that they’re hovering over her more. Malia trails their fingers down her hips, pushing her underwear down. Kira gets the hint and lifts her hips, kicking to get them off. She’s bare from the waist down, but Malia’s hand is moving up again. It sneaks under her shirt to cup her chest, thumbing over a nipple.

She gasps at the contact, arching up as Malia plucks the nipple to hardness, then the other. Every touch is overwhelming, making her whole body ache. Malia takes the time to touch her all over, tracing the curves of her chest and her belly. She’s close to just asking Malia to touch her right as Malia’s fingers slide down her hip, over her mound, and dip down.

They avoid her clit, but it doesn’t matter. Any touch to her lips or slit is making her moan. She’s trying not to be too loud, but Malia obviously knows what they’re doing, teasing her skin and making her _want it_. When Malia finally slides their fingers against her slit, barely dipping into her, the noise Kira makes is obscene, shattering the silence.

Behind her Malia groans in response, and in front -- she hears Scott gasp. Her eyes slip open to see him watching them, mouth open. There’s a flush high on his cheeks. It’s a breathtaking view.

“Can Scott touch himself?” Malia asks her, right before rubbing her clit. Kira whines, hips jolting forward. Malia’s hips follow, keeping them close.

“Yeah,” Kira says, exhaling harshly as Malia speeds up. Scott doesn’t waste time, doesn’t even spare a smile. She sees him wiggling under the blanket, moving to touching himself. She lets her eyes slip shut again, not sure if she should give him privacy; he’s watching her get off, but at least he asked.

Malia makes that rumbly, pleased noise again, and dips their fingers down, tilting Kira’s hips back so they can sink two fingers into her. Kira moans loudly, feeling the drag of their fingers, the easy slide that means she’s absolutely soaking.

Her body falls back as Malia repositions them so that Malia’s on their side, hanging over Kira. The blanket has fallen down, but Kira can’t bring herself to care. Malia kisses her roughly, tongue dipping into her mouth, teeth catching against her lips. Kira can barely keep up with all the sensations. She groans and pants, arching her hips to try and angle Malia’s fingers to the right spot inside of her.

Everything is hot, fuzzy around the edges. Next to them, Scott’s making small noises, getting off while Malia fingers Kira. The groans Malia’s making are winding Kira up more. Malia kisses like they can’t get enough, like they want to consume Kira. It’s making Kira dizzy, in the best way.

“Holy shit,” Kira says, voice going high and tight. Malia makes a victory noise and hooks two fingers in Kira while using their thumb on her clit. Both at once is enough to make Kira whine, coming around Malia’s fingers as Malia helps her ride out her orgasm, kissing her hard.

“Holy shit,” Scott agrees. Kira tilts her head to look at him. He’s still under blankets, but he’s panting and grinning. She’s guessing he came, too.

Malia smirks down at Kira, smug look on their face.

“Congrats,” Kira says, patting their leg. They giggle and tumble off of her, falling into the bed. They look beautiful, hair fanned out around them, breathing heavy. There’s a flush over their chest and up their cheeks. Kira wants to eat them up. Which --

“Can I take care of you?” she asks, already rolling over to touch.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Malia says, look up at her. A tight feeling surges in Kira’s chest, not quite describable. Instead of trying, so leans down and kisses Malia. Their lips, their jaw, their neck. She nips and bites their skin as she slinks down their body, not bothering to waste time.

Malia’s underwear sticks to them as Kira pulls it down, and Kira’s mouth actually _waters_.

“Hey, can I --?” Scott’s scooted closer, hand tracing Malia’s arm. Kira’s still naked from the waist down, but she doesn’t really care at this point.

“‘Course,” she says, echoing Malia from earlier. She’s moving down Malia’s body anyway, pressing kisses to their stomach. Their hand is on her head, guiding her down. It’s really nice.

“You can pull my hair,” Kira says, thoughtfully, before diving in and licking the seam of Malia’s body. Everything is sticky on Kira’s tongue, musky. They taste divine as Kira plunges in, wasting no time. Malia is soaked, slick smearing on Kira’s cheeks.

They’re making this glorious moaning sound, stuttering little, “ah, ah, ah”s that Kira wants to hear for the rest of her life. Scott’s kissing the noise out of them, tongue chasing into their mouth. He has a hand on their chest, rolling a nipple, tugging it harder than Kira would have thought to. Malia just arches and shoves their hips down in the same motion, silently asking for more.

Kira shifts so that she can slip two fingers inside Malia, curling them as licks against Malia’s clit hard, letting them shift their hips against Kira’s face. Their grip tightens on Kira’s hair, and Kira glances up to see Scott sucking a mark into the front of their neck.

“ _Kira_ , fuck, _Scott_ ,” they groan, and Scott smiles against the skin there. Kira can see the bruise there, pink and red and deepening. She moves her fingers faster, harder, sucks on Malia’s clit. They whine and gasp and come around Kira’s fingers. Kira keeps moving her fingers until their muscles stop fluttering, then press a kiss to their hip before rolling away.

She settles her head on their leg, trying to breathe. She looks over, and Scott’s head is resting on Malia’s stomach, their fingers playing with his hair. They’re watching Kira, lazy smile on their lips, still flushed and panting.

“You good?” Scott asks Malia, grabbing at their hand and lacing their fingers together on his stomach. He’s naked from the waist-down, too. Kira didn’t even realize; she stifles a giggle, unable to help the way a wave of giddiness crashes in her chest.

“I’m good,” Malia says, voice rough from moaning; from _Kira_ making them moan. They extend their free hand and make a grabby motion. Kira laces their fingers together, and Malia asks, “You good?”

Kira’s got this buzzing through her whole body. It’s in the tips of her fingers, in her cheeks, in her chest. It’s unapologetically euphoric, tugging a grin out of her. When she thinks she’s done grinning, she grins again.

“I’m good,” she says. She’s really, really good.

**Author's Note:**

> The specific identities for the characters are:  
> Kira - panromantic, sex positive grey-ace, cisgender  
> Malia - alloromantic, bisexual, agender  
> Scott - transmasculine, quoiromantic (a romantic orientation where the person either can't differentiate platonic/romantic feelings or struggles to do so)
> 
> find me on [tumblr](queerlyalex.tumblr.com)


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